


Akwá:wen

by assassin_inthe_scoutregiment



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed III, Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:53:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassin_inthe_scoutregiment/pseuds/assassin_inthe_scoutregiment
Summary: Connor is injured by a surprise Templar attack on the Homestead. Elizabeth takes care of him, and realizes her feelings.





	Akwá:wen

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't played AC Black Flag, I don't recommend reading as this contains spoilers from the end of Black Flag.

A/N: If you haven't finished playing Black Flag yet, I don't recommend reading as it contains a huge spoiler from that game. 

Imagine- Falling in love with Connor Kenway/ Ratonhnhake:ton.

The homestead was oddly quiet while you busied yourself with cleaning the stables. With Achilles gone, Connor away on a mission, and the novices you'd been assisting with training away, you were the only one to walk the empty halls and wait for the native's return, so you distracted yourself with work. 

Your favorite mare, Ellie, lazily pulled grass by its roots in the yard in front of the stable while you knocked the manure from a pitchfork into a wheelbarrow then turned to face the back of the stall again. Ellie's ears perked at a sound unheard by you. She began trotting away from the stable; the clicking of iron shoes on cobblestones caught your attention. You whistled loudly for Ellie's return while stepping into the tack room to find her bridle, saddle, and blanket. Ellie popped back into the stable, and walked to the hitching post where you stood waiting. 

Having already been brushed, you only had to tack the mare. First, the bridle. You held the leather straps up to her face. Ellie dipped her nose into the nose band, then opened her mouth to take the two piece bit. You tucked the straps over her ears, then tied the reins to the post to saddle the mare. You picked up the heavy blanket and placed it on her back, meeting her withers with cotton when the sound of heavy hooves galloping atop earth broke your concentration. You spun around searching for the source of sound when you were greeted with a familiar sight. 

A large man, with dark hair, eyes, and skin rode a painted gelding into view. His robes fluttered loosely behind him as the pair sprinted closer to the stables and house. With Connor home, you quickly untacked Ellie, and lead her to her stall, abandoning the ride around the property you'd originally intended on. You quickly glanced down your frame noting the dirt and hay decorating your clothes. You wore trousers and a tunic tucked under your belt with tall boots protecting your feet, all of which had dust, dirt, and hay contrasting the dark tones of the fabric. Surely Connor would come home equally as untidy after riding a horse for who knew how many days, waving away the thought of self-consciousness. You closed Ellie's stall then stepped into the yard to look for Connor. 

Iron shoes met cobblestones again as he trotted his horse into the stables. 

"Connor!" You exclaimed, clearly happy with his return. "You should have been home last week!" 

Connor chuckled softly under his breath while dismounting the massive gelding. 

"A situation arose that had to be dealt with." He answered simply. Connor held his horses reins and lead him to the hitching post Ellie had previously occupied. His movements seeped a need for rest. Knowing Connor, he still wouldn't have a chance to sleep for several hours now. He would want to check on the novices, speak with those living on the homestead, and tend to the animals before even considering laying down to end the day. "Luckily, I was there to deal with it."

You helped Connor pulled the saddle off his horse 

"I'm assuming it had something to do with the recent Templar uprisings." You mused while leading his horse to its stall. 

"You would assume correctly. It would seem that killing my father and Charles Lee did little to stop them, it just slowed them down for a while." Connor spoke softly from the tack room. You separated a flick of hay from its bale, tossed it in the stall, then turned to face Connor. 

"Isn't that why we are rebuilding the brotherhood, though? To keep fighting the Templar threat?" You questioned as both of you began walking towards the main house. The native thought quietly for a moment before answering.

"Yes, but the threat is never ending, it seems." His gaze turned to one of deep thought. You opened the door leading into the kitchen. 

Connor packed weapons seemingly from head to toe, which is why there was an empty chest by the door awaiting his outermost cloak and any weaponry he brought in. Connor discarded the white coat, revealing a quiver set against his shoulder, his tomahawk resting on his hip, his hidden blades in their normal residence along his forearms, and a sword on his hip opposite the tomahawk. He laid down each weapon, then removed his boots and top shirt, revealing two pistols held in place by the waistband of his trousers. Connor quickly added the pistols to the pile. 

"How are the novices doing, Elizabeth?" You lead him into the kitchen where a pot of vegetable soup had been simmering over a fire most of the day. Several of the newest assassins would be coming in from their contracts this evening, and you knew they'd come in hungry, they always did, meaning a large pot of soup, and biscuit dough rising in a glass bowl. You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet then filled it to the brim with warm soup for your mentor. 

"Wonderful. Most of them are out on contracts as we speak. Those who aren't should be on their way to Boston for supplies while I stayed behind to keep the homestead running." Connor thanked you for the soup. You set a glass of water down for him as well. "Three of them have been helping me with training when they can, and are rising through the ranks easily." He swallowed a mouthful of soup. 

"Good. Would you mind helping me wash my robes? I can't get a couple bloodstains out. You managed to get them last time." You couldn't help but chuckle at Connor's request. You'd simply let them soak in water and baking soda last time, something he'd evidently forgotten. 

"I genuinely wonder what Achilles was thinking when he gave you white robes." You laughed as the man rolled his eyes before taking another bite of soup. "I'll go get some water while you eat." Your head shook slightly while he smiled in a silent thanks. 

It was still just as quiet outside as it had been minutes ago, save the occasional sound of a mule braying in the distance, or a bird singing their happy song. You picked up a large bucket and made your way to the well, humming a tune your grandfather had taught you as a child. He had been your adoptive grandfather, but he treated you as one of his own all the same. Connor emerged from the house in fresh trousers and barefoot with his hair hanging loose around his shoulders, and his soiled clothing draped over one arm. 

With both buckets filled, you then emptied them into a barrel where most of the washing was completed. You sprinkled in baking soda, let it dissolve, then had Connor place his clothing in the barrel. You pushed each item beneath the surface of the water with a stick, then turned to search for Connor. 

He stood in the stable watching a week old foal play with her mother. His eyes lit up with each small kick and buck from the foal, and laughed softly when the mare nipped her child for playing too rough. Connor was truly a sight to behold in these rare moments when his guard was down. On the homestead he was comfortable, he was at home in his skin for a brief while before heading out again. These moments when he left the house, without a small arsenal attached to his hip, were few and far between. You took a moment to observe his form reaching into the stall with the foal and mare. 

Connor was very muscular, resulting from the combination of native and assassin blood, as well as his frequent work. He was a bear of a man, standing well over six feet tall, and carrying a very bulky frame. He tended to make even those equal in height look tiny in his shadow. His body language, while normally very tense and annoyed, rolled off as relaxed when home. You appeared beside him, watching the foal happily receive a drink of water from her bucket. Connor smiled softly as she blew bubbles in the water, splashing his chest in the process. 

"She looks like her mother." Connor commented when he noticed you standing on his right. 

"Which is why I've taken to calling her Red, as her mother is Red Rose." Another smile graced his lips.

"Onekwenhtara," Connor spoke softly, patting Red's neck, "Her name sounds better in my native language." He explained after seeing your confused glance. You silently thanked him for the explanation. Both of you stood in silence for several moments, watching foal and mare play in their stall when a stick broke behind you. A flash of red and black told you there was a Templar in the yard.

Connor instinctively reached for his tomahawk, which was still sitting inside the house. You released your hidden blades after handing Connor the throwing knives you had tucked into your belt. 

"Mr. Kenway, Miss Reed." The stranger greeted, brandishing a pistol. It only held one shot, and looked to be the only weapon on his body.

"Connor and Elizabeth will due." You replied, holding your hands behind your back to keep your blades exposed without the man seeing them. Connor held the blades in his left hand, but watched the stranger's every move. 

"Well then," the man began, "Connor, you recently killed a close friend of mine." He took two steps forward, closing the ten foot gap between you and him. 

"If he was a Templar bastard like you, then I'd imagine he deserved it." You were trying to focus his attention on you. Connor wore only trousers. There was no robes or clothing protecting him from a blade, or armor protecting him from a bullet. You, at least, had on some clothing. It wouldn't stop a bullet, but you'd much rather be the one shot than Connor. All of your novices looked to him for guidance and wisdom. He trained them all much better than you, and was a better assassin than you in general. You getting hurt, or possibly dying, wouldn't affect very many. His death would. 

"Deserving death is quite subjective, don't you think? I didn't believe my friend deserved death; it was an unfair judgement for his crime. Killing this savage would be justified, as he has killed more men than I have known in life." His voice rose and fell with an accent reminding you of home. He is from England, then. 

"To be fair, the Templars as a whole have slaughtered entire nations, wiped out complete tribes over night, and been responsible for the death of more people than those living in the states. Assassins only kill those who have committed atrocities. We stay our blades from the blood of the innocent. Connor would not have killed without reason, as he isn't a savage by any definition of the word." The man scoffed. "Find that funny, do you?" 

"Not as funny as this." The pistol went off; bullet skimming your shoulder then burrowing deep into Connor's chest. Blood instantly spurted out unevenly from the wound, coating your shoulder and neck. 

"Connor!" You shouted, turning to face him. His eyes were wider than saucers. One of his large hands covered the bullet hole while the other pointed to the man who began retreating across the yard in a sprint. Connor pushed you towards the man. Taking the cue, you bolted from his side.

The Templar wasn't nearly as familiar as you were with the homestead. He didn't notice the way the trees tended to lead to one another, nor the way the road ran parallel to the tree line. You quickly climbed into the trees, tracking his every move until you were just above him. He paused, looking in every direction for you except up. In an instant you dropped onto his form, sinking blades deep within his neck. His eyes were bright with confusion, but quickly faded. You released your blades, locking them back into safety. 

"Connor!" You yelled across the yard while sprinting to the stables. He was crawling towards the house, away from the dirtiness of the barn, a trail of blood following his every move. "We have to get you cleaned up. Can you stand up?" Connor answered by pulling himself up with the fence railing beside him. 

"You cannot carry me." His voice laden with pain.

"No, but I can help you make it up the stairs and into the kitchen. There's water and rags in there. Just, lean on me." 

It took several minutes, but you made it into the house. Connor had his arms wrapped around your shoulders and his head hanging low against your right ear. He collapsed on the table. You found the sewing kit, a clean rag, and water, then set to work removing the bullet.

\-------

He'd been passed out on the table for hours. Night had fallen, eight novices had returned, and you hadn't left his side for longer than a moment. Blood was caked to your shoulder where the bullet had skimmed past. Connor's blood stained your clothes, hair, and skin. He was barely breathing. You couldn't stand to leave him to even clean the blood from your body. 

"Elizabeth," A familiar voice broke the silence. James, one of your novices, entered the room with a clean set of your robes in hand. "I will watch him. You need to wash the blood off." He sat the robes down on a barrel holding potatoes. 

"I'm not leaving him. He wouldn't leave any of us." You countered, watching James huff. "I can't leave him, James." He didn't respond, but took a seat beside you. Connor still laid on the table, a blanket over his body and a pillow under his head. He sat still as death. "He lost so much blood." A single tear streaked your face. You wiped it away, hoping James hadn't seen. 

"And you gained it, by the looks of it. If he hasn't moved since this afternoon, I doubt he will until morning. Go clean the blood out of your hair. Amelia already has a bath drawn for you. I promise, if anything happens, I will come get you."

You laid your head on Connor's chest, listening for a heartbeat. It was weak, but steady. His breathing was soft, and he had quit bleeding some time ago. You hated to admit it, but James was right. Nothing would change soon. You pressed a kiss to his temple. 

"If he so much as sneezes, you come to me immediately, understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

\------

'Why did you adopt my mum?' You inquired of the greying man walking you down the street. His laugh fell on your ears.

'It's a long story, lass.' He stated instead of answering the six year old girl smiling up at him.

'Uncle Haytham said it's because you felt guilty when mum's mum died. He said you loved her before you met Tessa.' The older man stopped in his tracks. He glanced at the all too familiar dark eyes watching him with questions floating behind them. 

'Uncle Haytham says a lot of things, and most of them are wrong.' He replied, still not answering your question. 'Stick close to me, Elizabeth. Your mum would murder me if I lost you while she's away.' He held a hand out. You happily placed your tiny hand in his much larger one. 

'Why did you adopt my mum, if Uncle Haytham is wrong?' You asked again, this time with a hint of determination littering your voice. He glanced down into your eyes. This time he noticed persistence lingering there. 

'Uncle Haytham is only sort of wrong, lass. Your grandmum was a very close friend. She was braver than any man I ever knew, and twice as intelligent. I loved her like you love your mum, or Jenny.' He paused for a moment to allow a buggy to cross the street ahead. 

'Or you? You loved her like I love you?' He waved at the buggy driver before leading you to the next street. 

"Aye, lass. Or, like I love you.'

'What was her name?' You inquired, watching the horse trot down the road.

'Her name was Mary, and she changed my life, lass.' Another pause. 'She died after giving birth to your mum. Some people had already taken your mum to an orphanage by the time I found Mary. I tried to save her, but she'd lost too much blood already. I searched everywhere I could think of for Mary's daughter.' His voice darkened. 'Your aunt Jenny came to me in the West Indies, and she seemed lonely on the island, so we moved to London, and I married Tessa. Tessa knew about Mary, knew what she meant to me. We were walking to the market one night when children from the orphanage were playing in the street. A little girl, no more than your age stood there watching the other children. She was undoubtedly Mary's daughter. Tessa and I went to the orphanage asking questions about the girl. We spoke with the matron for a long while as she told us what little she knew of the girl's family. She'd been sent to them from Kingston at only a couple months old, with only their first names and last initial given as to who her parents were; Mary R and Jack R. We adopted her that same night.'   
\-----

As a child, your grandfather had obviously provided little detail, and nearly changed the truth of the matter when you'd asked. Your grandmother had been an assassin, as you were now. She was a feared pirate, a wanted woman, one of the most prolific assassins in the West Indies, and known to most as a man by the name of James Kidd. Your mum had been born in a Jamaican prison, and taken from Mary as punishment right before her death. Edward had broken into the prison to save her, but couldn't in the end. 

You'd been raised as Edward's granddaughter, then as his own daughter after your mother's death when you were young. You stayed with him until the Templar Grand Master killed him, then joined the Brotherhood in England before moving to America immediately following the revolution. 

Sitting beside Connor now gave you reason to laugh. He was Edward's grandchild by blood, but had never been granted the opportunity to meet him. You were simply the grandchild of his friend, but had been raised by the man. Still, Edward had always sworn you were your grandmother made over. The same slight build, dark hair, dark eyes, and every bit as wild as Mary had been at heart. Then here was Connor, the spitting image of his father and grandfather, but with much darker features. He moved so similarly to Edward, even fighting like him at times. You saw more similarities between grandson and grandfather than father and son. 

Still, it was hard to think of Connor as being a Kenway. He was soft spoken and tended to listen more than add his input. He cared for every life, even those of animals. He was fire when angered, but cool wind in nearly any other mood. You'd come to the conclusion long ago that while he may look like his father, he had very little of the man in him. 

Dawn was breaking, and Connor still laid motionless on the table. You'd made breakfast for the assassins waking up, but didn't touch it yourself. They were all on edge. Their mentor could very well pass on. Your closest friend could leave you, and you didn't know how to handle the prospect of his passing. Few asked questions. Your eyes constantly darting to the sleeping man gave more than enough answers for them to understand you were equally terrified. They all dispersed about the homestead, tending to various chores and duties. 

"Connor," you whispered, gripping his hand, "You can't leave me here." A few tears rolled down your cheeks. They puddled on the table after dripping from your chin. Connor was your closest friend, mentor, and one of the greatest men you knew. The two of you had become incredibly close over the course of a few years, and barely any time passed without him speaking with you, or you getting his attention for one reason or another. 

Of course nobody knew where Davenport Homestead was. You'd been traversing the wilderness of America searching for the brotherhood's base. You'd been given coordinates and a vague description, but the terrain was different to England and Ireland. For the first time in your life you were unsure of where your feet were taking you, yet, here you were, searching for a base that may not even exist after its mentor died. You'd only heard of a lone assassin running the homestead. With the Templar influence stalled after the death of their Grand Master, the English Brotherhood thought it best to send you over to assist the lone assassin in re-establishing their presence in America. 

A large man clad in white robes came into view, galloping along the snow covered trail. Your own mare huffed at the sudden stranger in her line of sight. You waved your hand for his attention and silently thank whatever gods that be for their generosity. 

"Thank you so much for stopping!" The man wore a grimace, but tried to hide it beneath the hood atop his head. "I'm looking for the Davenport Homestead. Can you point me in the right direction?" The stranger's lips pulled into a half-smile.

"Follow this road. Take the first right, and you will see the house from the bottom of the hill. You must be the assassin the English sent. I'm Connor." His grimace was still present, but had lightened.

"I'm Elizabeth. Thank you, Connor. I suppose I will be seeing more of you." You gave him a soft smile. Connor's dark eyes flashed with hope as they scanned your form, along with that of your horse. Connor stayed silent for a moment, examining you uneasily. "I'll be going then." You clicked lightly to your mare who huffed, then began walking closer to the native. 

"Wait." His left arm went out in front of your body. "I'll go with you." Connor had taken his time showing you around the main house, stable, and the settlements at the docks, as well as the Aquila. You couldn't help but laugh when seeing him standing at the Aquila's wheel, looking so much like his grandfather. 

Connor had smiled at you when you spoke to him about Edward and your upbringing that day. That smile, though you didn't realize it then, was the first downed barrier in the rabbit hole you'd fallen in when you began falling for him. The next day he'd awoken you with bacon, eggs, and a cup of tea. As more assassins came pouring in, you and Connor had began sharing a room. When you'd have nightmares, he never failed to wake you from them, and would often share a bed, holding you to his chest where his heart would calm you until both of you drifted off to sleep. Though neither of you had tried to make something more of the obvious feelings, you were suddenly finding yourself wishing you had. If Connor didn't recover, you'd have a life of regret knowing you'd never taken that chance. 

His eyes flitted open uneasily. 

"Elizabeth." Connor gripped your hand. Your head popped up, allowing your dark eyes to fall on his. 

"Connor!" You practically shouted. Connor didn't say a word, but sat up and faced you. Your hands still held one of his. His eyes peered over your face, noting the tear tracks, blotchy skin, and reddened veins crossing the whites of your eyes. His free hand wiped away the tears currently littering your face. "How are you fee-" Connor cut off your question.

One of his large, rough hands squeezed your upper arm while the other one held your chin. He tilted your chin up slightly, tracing the edge with his thumb. 

"I nearly died, Elizabeth. I cannot risk facing death again without you. Without this." Connor's lips met yours. You'd always imagined them to be rough, like his hands, like him in general, but you were so incredibly wrong. They were soft as cotton, yet firm. Before you could savor more he broke the kiss. Connor eyed you warily as if to apologize for his actions. You didn't let him say a word. Instead, you pressed your lips to his. 

The two of you broke for air a moment later. 

"Ratonhnhake:ton," Your use of his real name caught his attention quickly. "Never scare me like that again. I love you. You cannot leave me." 

"I won't, I promise." He spoke softly before planting another kiss on your lips. 

\--- 3 Years Later---

You stood in the doorway of Davenport Manor, looking out over the yard. Connor stood with a circle of assassins surrounding him, teaching them how best to aim and fire a bow. Standing beside him was a two year old girl, eagerly mimicking her father's every move and pitching in her two sense in the form of odd consonants strung together with the occasional mumbling of 'daddy' added in for good measure. The sight was truly one to behold; Connor speaking of killing others for the sake of the Creed, and his child mumbling along without a care as to what words her father spoke. 

It was autumn. The leaves had begun to fall, marking their territory in hues of orange, yellow, and deep reds. Pumpkin pie baking filled the house with scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, making your stomach growl in anticipation. Pumpkin had been your latest, and most severe craving with your second child who kicked and wiggled beneath your fingers, still a few days from making their appearance. The group surrounding your husband disbanded for dinner, which, as a training exercise, they had to kill, skin, and cook themselves. 

"Mom mom!" Mary shouted while running through the yard after she noticed you watching the group. Your two year old came sprinting across the yard with her father in town. She resembled Connor in features, but was much more fair skinned like yourself. Even with this difference, Mary was her father made over when it came to her actions. You secretly hoped the next one took after you more. You didn't know if you could handle two, moody, teenage Connor's when the time came. The idea of the baby taking after you was terrifying too. Edward had, on more than one occasion, dragged you out of a pub in the early morning, mumbling about how much like your grandmother you were. Hopefully that specific gene skipped a generation. 

Mary squeezed your leg, sliding down to sit on your foot. Connor greeted you with a kiss, then removed Mary from your foot. She smiled at her father. Taking his hand, you lead Connor and Mary into the kitchen where you had prepared dinner and pie earlier in the evening. 

Soon after dinner the three of you headed back outside. It was a nightly ritual; to observe the stars while laying back on a blanket together. For the last couple months Connor wound up playing with Mary instead of laying back with you, but you didn't mind in the slightest. Connor was an amazing father. Especially after the disaster Haytham had been with him, he was terrified of the prospect of children, until he held Mary the first time. You'd watched every bit of his restraint and fear melt away in that moment. She'd had him wrapped around her little finger ever since. 

Connor was your best friend, your husband, the father of your daughter, and, based on the new jolt of pain radiating from your lower back, he'd soon be the perfect father to another little one in the near future.


End file.
